Frienemies
by Abarero
Summary: It's France's birthday party, which means there is lots of love in the air. But England's sulking, America's moody and Canada just hopes that the evening isn't ruined somehow. France/Canada, America/England.


**Frienemies**

**

* * *

  
**

It was a wonderful party; lots of good wine, good friends and lovely people to look at. France sighed, swirling about the wine in his glass once more before taking a sip. The romantic music had worked its magic on his guests, most of them paired off either on the dance floor or in not-so hidden corners of the room.

France's eyes scanned the room, seeking out one specific blonde that he knew might be a bit tricky to find; his dear Canada did have a knack of _not_ standing out at all. But his eyes fell upon another lone country first. _Well, well. A lonely Brit in the North corner. I believe I just might to need check into this first._

Casually, he strolled across the room, congenially talking to his guests and making lewd comments in the direction of those entangled in the shadows. He could see the Briton's shoulders stiffen as he approached and he had to repress a laugh.

"Where is the other half of the oh-so special pair?" He asked, setting his wine glass down.

England just glared, a very obvious "Let me brood in peace."

France sighed, knowing already what had probably happened. "I take it the dashing American has said the wrong thing again?"

England snorted, inelegantly downing a glass of wine in one gulp and snapping at the Frenchman. "None of your damn business."

France settled into the chair next to him. As much as he enjoyed watching the Briton be miserable, when it came to America- he was a downright killjoy sometimes.

"As the host of this party, it is my duty to ensure all my guests' happiness." He sighed. "Plus, I know you are only here because he is. Probably gave you those enchanting blue puppy dog eyes, and you caved right away."

"Sod off," England swore. His green eyes flickered across the room, settling on America for a mere second before flitting back away. France still hadn't left, and England sighed in resignation. "It's not him that's the problem."

"Ah?" France queried, now just a tad intrigued.

".," England reiterated fiercely. He had hoped in vain that the Frenchman would drop it, but France wasn't giving up.

"Listen to me. I know we haven't always gotten on so well."

"We've never gotten along, you bloody frog."

"True true." He placed a hand on England's shoulders, feeling him tense up even more. "But when it comes to love, you can always ask big brother France for advice, you know?"

England scoffed. "As if I would..."

"You got a lot of unsolicited advice from me years ago, what's the harm now?"

England flushed angrily, remembering all of the Frenchman's taunts and not-so-subtle hints in the 1800s. But as much as he loathed to admit it, France had been close friends with America for so long that he could perhaps garner some amount of understanding that he himself couldn't.

"Fine. But let it be known that he was the first to storm off this time," the Brit snapped. France's eyes had flickered to where America stood, the tall blonde speaking to his brother.

"Was anything said?"

"He'd said something about the music being nice," England muttered. "I'd told him it was awful and _French_ and he made some daft excuse and said he had to go talk to Canada."

Figuring he could take care of two problems in one blow, France stood up. "Then perhaps I should go find out why, hmm?"

"Wait, you bastard!" England shouted, but it was already too late. The Frenchman had already crossed the room to stand by the two North Americans.

He'd slung an arm around Canada, as he leaned close and spoke to America. England got to his feet. Whatever the bloody French bastard was up to, it couldn't be good. He could see America's perplexed expression, then his blue eyes widening as France said something that made Canada blush.

England was almost to them when he overheard France speaking once more. "Pardon me, Canada. But it _is_ for a noble cause."

And before any of them could even process the movement, France had leaned in and kissed America. Canada covered his eyes, seeing his boyfriend kiss his brother definitely not on the list of things he wanted to see. And England growled, forcefully yanking France away. "Get your disgusting hands off him!"

France smirked as he was jerked back, looking as suave as one could while being bodily tugged in the opposite direction. "I was just giving him what he wanted. Oui?"

America just gaped, absently reaching up to wipe at his mouth. "I never said I wanted to kiss _you_."

England's eyes widened at that, the pieces finally falling into place. He turned on America. "Are you barmy? How does commenting on the music have anything to do with kissing?"

America nervously rubbed at the back of his head, an awkward smile quirking at his lips. "Well, everyone else seemed to get the idea. Romantic music...you know? I just figured you'd get mad if I kissed you first and I...didn't want to ruin the evening so I excused myself."

It figured, England thought to himself, that in trying _not_ to ruin the evening, America had somehow almost ruined the evening. It was the story of their bloody lives.

Spluttering as the full impact of America's words sunk in, England flushed bright red. He just _knew_ France was behind him, being thoroughly amused at his expense. _Probably why the frog offered his 'help.' Knew it would lead to me getting embarrassed and making a fool of myself. Fine then. I won't dare rise any further to his antics._

Reaching up, England wiped hastily at America's lips in an attempt to wipe away any French germs that might remain.

"E-England, what are you--"

But his words were cut off as the British nation kissed him soundly on the mouth, his hands reaching up to tangle in his hair. America chuckled into the kiss, wrapping his arms around England's waist and pulling him closer.

Canada sighed in relief, obviously a bit worried that the two would end up in another fight and spoil France's birthday party completely. Turning to the Frenchman, he noticed the pleased smile on his face.

"You did that on purpose, eh?"

An expression of mischief flickered over his features as he wrapped an arm around Canada's waist and led him away from the two still in a lip lock.

"Quickest way to get England to do something is to beat him to it," France explained with a chuckle. "Plus, I could not have his sulky face tainting my elegant party. It would be bad taste as a host."

"You two are such frienemies..." Canada mumbled quietly.

"Excusez-moi?" France queried, seating himself on a chase lounge and pulling Canada into his lap.

Canada gulped, sometimes forgetting that France actually listened to him. "O-oh, nothing."

He gave France a nervous smile and was glad to see the other country let it drop. He would have hated to explain himself. Canada wasn't sure what would be worse. France realizing that perhaps he helped the Brit on purpose, because even _he_ couldn't stand to see England sulking over America. Or perhaps, even more embarrassing, realizing that Canada had been watching _Sex and the City_ again (although, at least Canada could argue that it had been America's fault that they'd ended up watching that).

"What are you thinking about mon cheri?" France asked, his lips pressed against Canada's neck.

_Oh just the fact that it's rather sad that I just pegged centuries of hatred between the British and the French with a term from an HBO show. _He thought to himself before replying. "Nothing really. Just that it's nice that America and England stopped sulking. America seemed pretty moody before you came over."

"Ah yes, those two. Bickering might be some sort of strange foreplay for them, but what can I say? They really do love each other. Though what America sees in England, I will never understand. Ah well. At least they stopped killing the mood at my party." He trailed a hand down Canada's thigh at this remark.

"F-France!"

"Oui?" He asked, feigning innocence.

"N-not...not _here_," he murmured shyly, his face turning scarlet.

France chuckled, trailing his hand up Canada's sides and smirking at the way he shuddered under his touch. He nibbled a bit on his ear as he asked. "Then shall we retire to my more private quarters?"

"B-But you're the host, you can't..."

France stood, tugging Canada up with him. "I have a feeling they'll not miss me much. Plus, it is my birthday, no? I should get what I want."

And between the way he intoned the last sentence and his shameless grip on Canada's rear, Canada realized it would be in vain to argue the point. As the two wandered across the room towards the hallway, France paused to call over to the two countries still engaged in making out by the drink table.

"England, America- perhaps you two should get a room. I have a guest room spare if you'd like!"

He did it so loudly and pointedly, that everyone- whether currently engaged in their own romantic exploits or not- turned to look. The two pulled apart and blushed furiously. England yelled back.

"It's not like that! Don't get me wrong, I was just doing this to purify his lips after he was so ruthlessly tainted by a French kiss! That's all it was!"

"Y-Yeah! That's all it was!" America lamely backed him up.

No one was convinced, but they'd learned to let such ridiculous excuses slide with those two. France just laughed as he led Canada away. Getting to embarrass England in front of everyone was a wonderful birthday gift, after all.

THE END


End file.
